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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24999217">Respite</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellesque/pseuds/bellesque'>bellesque</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, at least it's very close to fluff what would that be, no y/n, or an attempt at soft mando, please ignore some canon and science for the fluff just shh, this is basically very soft mando, very very little angst i promise</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:09:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,880</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24999217</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellesque/pseuds/bellesque</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There are three things the Mandalorian can't have at the same time, or at all:</p>
<p>An excursion with the kid.<br/>No one tracking him.<br/>A brief window for him to let his guard down.</p>
<p>In other words: peace.</p>
<p>But maybe, just for one day... he can.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>106</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Respite</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've been obsessing over this show for the past few weeks and decided to try my hand at some Mando. Here we are, folks.<br/>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>So. Holding a little baby ball of green wrapped in scratchy brown wool was not something you thought you’d be doing today.</p>
<p>Not that you plan your days particularly. No, but you had <em>some </em>idea of how it would go. Tinker a little at the shop, maybe bargain with the offworld Jawas outside the city. Come back home for a bite to eat and then maybe tinker some more.</p>
<p>Cruise through hyperspace, this baby with the hugest fucking eyes in your arms? Never in your wildest dreams would you have thought this is what you’d end up doing.</p>
<p>His pointy ears perk skyward as he stares up at you, cooing softly in question. Shit, what does it want? Does it need anything? You’re not exactly sure what you’re supposed to—</p>
<p>“Put the kid down.”</p>
<p>Maker, your heart almost jumps out of your chest. The modulated voice isn’t angry. It’s not impatient, but it’s not patient either. It’s quiet at the same time loud enough for you to hear through the iron that encases it. It’s stoic, emotionless, intimidating…</p>
<p>Fucking scary is what it is. Is what <em>he</em> is.</p>
<p>You’ve heard the stories. About the Mandalorian as a people. To see one? Be in the same ship as one?</p>
<p>Well, if you were back home, you’d be considered a legend just alongside them actually.</p>
<p>You bounce the baby gingerly, so minutely it’s almost like you don’t move your arms at all. Maker, you’re confused. You don’t know what it is, why it looks aged at the same time so adorable, and you don’t know what it needs.</p>
<p>Which brings you back to the Mandalorian, whom you’ve known for approximately—oh, about an hour or so now, and his change in verbal directive. “I thought you said—”</p>
<p>“I know what I said. Put him down.”</p>
<p>Who are you, really, to argue with him? All things considered, it’s his ship, his rules, and his baby. Apparently.</p>
<p>There’s no way he’d be all green and bug-eyed underneath all that armor right?</p>
<p>You ignore the burning question that stations itself on the tip of your tongue, instead bending down to set the baby on its feet on the metal floor of the Razor Crest. The baby coos again, wobbling its way towards the pilot chair where its dad sits.</p>
<p>Stars, how is it so fucking <em>cute?</em></p>
<p>You’re a little too intrigued by the way the baby moves: his whole body leans heavily towards one side with every waddle forward. Slow, purposeful, adorable waddles. It’s amazing how he just doesn’t teeter off too much to one side and fall in a heap of wool and large ears.</p>
<p>The baby manages to soundlessly end up by the Mandalorian’s feet, tugging at him with its stubby three fingers. The Mandalorian’s helmet turns briefly, glancing down at the green creature that helplessly reaches for something too far up the console. Too far for his little grubby hands to reach.</p>
<p>He audibly sighs as he scoops up the baby in one hand, settling it onto his lap while it continues to make grabby hands at something.</p>
<p>“I meant the pram.”</p>
<p>“O-oh,” is the only pathetic thing you can say. You shouldn’t feel embarrassed, but it stubbornly makes its way into your system anyway. This wasn’t a job you signed up for. In fact, you don’t know exactly <em>why </em>you’re here. The Mandalorian simply looked you up and down after you made a few repairs to his ship, and asked quite bluntly, “You good with a blaster?”</p>
<p>You blinked, twice, just enough time for your mind to catch up and process what he just asked. “I’m sorry?”</p>
<p>“Can you shoot?”</p>
<p>“Um.” Eloquent. “I’ve tried, a couple times, bu-but—”</p>
<p>He expertly threw the blaster rifle at you, which you struggled to catch perfectly. Him, as intimidating as ever, jerked his head to the side. “Shoot,” he said simply, raising a gloved hand to point at a canister several feet away. “Right there.”</p>
<p>And you did. By beginner’s luck, the canister split open.</p>
<p>Which, for some Maker-forsaken reason, warrants your presence on this ship. Are you a babysitter? His… partner for a day? Extra help? Maintenance? You had one job: tune up his Razor Crest. That’s it. You should be back home. Tinkering. Fixing. Bargaining.</p>
<p>But you’re here. A backdrop to a mysterious bounty hunter and his equally mysterious baby.</p>
<p>“I can put him in the crib,” you offer a little nervously.</p>
<p>The Mandalorian says nothing. He sits, stoic and silent in the pilot’s chair, the baby cooing periodically in his lap as he plays with the tiny metal ball the Mandalorian hands him. You swallow. He doesn’t even have to look at you for your palms to start sweating.</p>
<p>And it doesn’t help your rising nerves that you don’t know <em>why </em>you’re here. You’re not a quarry—right? Oh, shit, is there any way you could be and you just don’t know it?</p>
<p>To venture forward and say something, or continue to stand several feet behind him in silence. Have your questions answered, or just wait until he deems it the right time to provide you with them. It’s a mental battle that has you chewing on your lip and glancing skittishly at the glowing buttons around you.</p>
<p>Eventually your nerves win out, unable to take the quiet that stretches out seemingly into lightyears. “Um. So… what do you… need me to do?”</p>
<p>The Mandalorian takes a beat to respond. He presses a few buttons on the console, and mutters a curt, “Hold onto something.”</p>
<p>You’re glad for your quick reflexes, because as soon as he says so your fingers latch onto the nearest metal bar just as you lurch forward in hyperjump. The impact leaves you a little dizzy, swaying on your feet as you struggle to regain your bearings when you exit hyperspace.</p>
<p>He swivels to face you, standing from his seat and regarding you with… subtle interest, maybe? Or maybe he’s just amused at how you’re still swaying in your spot.</p>
<p>The baby fits snugly into the crook of his arm, and the image of this broad man covered head to toe in beskar with the tiniest little thing tucked into the bend of his elbow is so bizarre that you physically have to bite back a question: <em>Are you green too?</em></p>
<p>“I need you to cover me,” he says eventually. The baby gurgles and looks up at the metal visor. “Just for today.”</p>
<p>“Cover you how?”</p>
<p>His helmet tips down as he glances at the baby in his arm. “Make sure no one’s following me. If you see someone, shoot.”</p>
<p>“Now hold on,” you interrupt. Finally you’ve regained your balance, and apparently, your voice. “I only shot that canister once.”</p>
<p>His pauldron lifts as he shrugs with one shoulder. “Once is enough.”</p>
<p>“I don’t think I can get lucky a second time.”</p>
<p>“Look,” he says, and there’s something in his voice that quells the arguments forming in your throat. Desperation, maybe? Just a hint? A little urgent, a little… pleading? It’s a little hard to decipher, between the general lack of emotional lilt in his voice and the synthetic warp of his helmet. “I can pay you. Handsomely. Just watch my back, only for today, and I’ll take you home right after.”</p>
<p>You consider it—well, not like your consideration changes anything. You’re already on this forsaken ship, hurtling towards who-knows-where, so might as well. A little extra something never hurt anyone. Especially you.</p>
<p>You need the credits. Bad. The shop’s been struggling a little, and if you’re being honest, having the Mandalorian come in was the best thing to happen to you financially in weeks.</p>
<p>Okay. Okay, maybe you could do this. Watch his back. Just for today, like he said. You nod, mostly to convince yourself rather than to affirm him. “Okay,” you say aloud. You watch as the Mandalorian descends the ladder with one arm, still cradling the baby in the other. “So where are we going? A bounty, maybe? Someone who needs some good Mandalorian-style telling off?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It surprises you entirely when you land on the Forest Moon of Endor.</p>
<p>Really, there’s nothing here. Except for Ewoks. You have absolutely no clue, no idea what could possibly attract the Mandalorian to this place.</p>
<p>Except maybe, you think as the baby stumbles through the lush forest as fast as its little legs can take it—maybe this is why.</p>
<p>The Mandalorian hasn’t whisked you off to some exciting, gunslinging adventure. Not a bargain, or a job.</p>
<p>He’s brought you here for a day of nothing.</p>
<p>Granted, it’s not like you’re actually a part of it. You’re an awkward, outside-looking-in kind of spectator, eyes flitting nervously from vine to vine and grip tightening on the blaster whenever you hear even the slightest snap or crunch of nature. The gentle breeze carries the light laughter of the baby to your vicinity, and he holds your attention before your eyes focus on his guardian (dad?) a few meters away.</p>
<p>He’s… quiet. As usual. But for some reason, despite the seemingly impenetrable fortress of beskar and your inability to get a read on him, you can just tell, clear as day. It’s a soft sort of silence.</p>
<p>The chrome visor is undeniably trained on the little green baby as it chases after something that crawls on the grassy earth. The sky is a dusty blue, painting shadows over the Mandalorian and his tiny companion.</p>
<p>Serene. Peaceful.</p>
<p>You don’t know how long it takes until your tense muscles begin to relax from the calmness of Endor. Your breathing evens out and you set the blaster on your lap as you sit yourself on a large rock. It’s… nice. No pressure. Just a day with a kid and his dad doing absolutely nothing.</p>
<p>Peaceful.</p>
<p>While your body loosens up, the Mandalorian continues to stand across from you in soft stoicism. Based on his body language, his fight-or-flight response isn’t at the fore, but it’s ready to be pulled out at a moment’s notice.</p>
<p>But he’s, for the most part, present. Watching. Observing. Admiring, if the gentle tilt of his helmet is any indication.</p>
<p>You wonder, fleetingly, what it must be like to be him. To follow in the ways of the Mandalore. What he has to give up, what he has to live with.</p>
<p>His helmet snaps up to look straight at you. You jump.</p>
<p>He walks over to you in long strides, and you can’t help but feel like prey. Maker, he could have a smile on his face, could be the least intimidating person in all the galaxy—but the way he walks, all bulk and purpose, makes you feel like a rabbit in a snare.</p>
<p>You nod your head in the general direction of the baby, hating the way your heart thumps loudly against your sternum when he approaches. “So. Endor? For this?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” He moves to stand next to the giant boulder you’re perched on, holding his posture straight as ever. Your eyes flicker from his helmet to his chest plate, and this time your questions burst at the seams.</p>
<p>“Isn’t that heavy?” you blurt.</p>
<p>His head tilts slowly to face you, and you hastily turn yours away. Your cheeks burn. <em>Scary. Fucking scary.</em></p>
<p>“Y-your armor.” He doesn’t have to say anything. Somehow with the look he’s giving you, shielded at the same time piercing, gets your mouth moving. Like a bounty trying to negotiate. You can’t look at him. You can’t. You’ve made a fool of yourself, asking such a dumb, rhetorical question that continues to hang in the air. “I-I was asking, if—if—”</p>
<p>“The beskar becomes a part of a Mandalorian. It’s worn with pride.” There’s a pause, and you can see in your peripheral that he frees you from the weight of his gaze and returns it to the giggling child. “But. Sometimes.”</p>
<p>You nod in short, slow jerks, trying to empathize with him. “You ever take it off?”</p>
<p>“No. Not in front of people, at least.”</p>
<p>“Even the helmet?”</p>
<p>“Especially the helmet.”</p>
<p>You’re pushing it. Testing the limits, the boundaries of his silence. For all you know he could snap like a twig from your probing.</p>
<p>… Maybe one more.</p>
<p>“But why?”</p>
<p>The Mandalorian exhales, his chest visibly expanding and compressing as the sound seeps out of the modulator, long and drawn out like the silences you’ve spent with him. “This is the Way,” he murmurs.</p>
<p>The Way. The tone in his voice, though barely noticeable thanks to the filter, is enough to remind you that he is a man underneath all that metal. You feel a little… bad for him. Covered head to toe in armor, never able to take it off.</p>
<p>So you kick off the rock, without a real solid plan in mind, and hold out your palm to the Mandalorian.</p>
<p>He cocks his head to the side. You imagine he’s giving you the wariest of looks inside the metal that sheaths him. “What?”</p>
<p>“I’m going to go.”</p>
<p>“Where?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, I’ll scout or whatever it is you call it. Just—what is it—secure? Yeah, that. And you,” you glance around, searching for the baby, “are going to get some downtime alone.”</p>
<p>He visibly tenses, and the stark contrast of his hardness and the thriving, dancing foliage amuses you just a little. Cracks that hard shell of intimidation you held for him moments ago.</p>
<p>“The kid—”</p>
<p>“I’ll look after him,” you cut in. Maker, he’s so protective over the little bean. You wonder what this bounty hunter had to go through with him to warrant such concern. “It’s why I’m here, right?”</p>
<p>You can tell he’s considering it. Just when you think he’s going to accede, however:</p>
<p>“It’s too dangerous.”</p>
<p>“I’ll fire two warning shots into the sky if anything happens,” you promise. Your mind’s working a mile a minute—stars, you don’t know why you want to help him, ease whatever burden he faces—but you try to come up with solutions and answers where you’re able. “I’ll skirt this perimeter, far from you. I’m handy with a blaster, remember?” You hold it up for emphasis. “And, and—you can stay on the ship. Or in a super secluded corner, I’ll slip you some food and you can take off your helmet—”</p>
<p>“Stay here with the kid.”</p>
<p>“Huh?”</p>
<p>He takes a step backward. “Don’t let him out of your sight.”</p>
<p>The Mandalorian disappears into the dense woodland without another word.</p>
<p>The baby gurgles at your feet, gripping the hem of your pant leg as it looks up at you once again. Imploringly, almost as if to ask, <em>Up?</em></p>
<p>You scoop him up into your arms and sit back down on the boulder. “Think your daddy’s gonna have a good time on his own?” You scratch his ears, his eyelids drooping into inky semicircles at your actions. You soften. “You’re cute. No wonder he likes you.”</p>
<p>You get the feeling he doesn’t like anyone else as much.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s well and truly dark when the Mandalorian comes back.</p>
<p>The evening creatures have started up their symphony to welcome the night, a gentle accompaniment to the rustling of the leaves and the faint, distant gush of water. The baby slept in your lap for a bit as you battled your own stupor, and he woke up with an energetic babble to continue exploring the small patch of forested, open space the Mandalorian landed you in.</p>
<p>He doesn’t scare you as much when he comes back. Maybe it’s the way he walks, a little less battle-ready and a little more eased, or because you’ve gotten past that image of him just being some steel-plated bounty hunter. Either way, you greet him with a smile.</p>
<p>“Okay?”</p>
<p>He nods, one short dip of his head. “Thank you. For taking care of him.” He turns to watch the baby attempt to catch something that… most probably isn’t there. “I’ve secured the area. Scanner says there’s no one here but us for another thousand mile radius.”</p>
<p>“That’s good to know.” You rise to your feet. “Ready to head back?”</p>
<p>“Actually,” he starts, the word dragging slow and easy, “I was thinking we could head back tomorrow.”</p>
<p>Well. <em>That </em>certainly surprises you.</p>
<p>“It’s… nice here,” he admits quietly, almost like he doesn’t want to say it. But you understand. Sitting in silence here in one of the less populated parts of Endor has been therapeutic for your soul. You didn’t realize how hectic your daily life back home truly was: fast-paced, requiring you to be two steps ahead to survive. Here, you’re able to be free from the need to stay on your toes, even just for a moment. Maybe the baby’s carefree energy is contagious, but being here, alone with him, has already done wonders for the invisible weight on your shoulders.</p>
<p>“It is,” you agree. One contemplative inhale; two more. Should you ask? Maybe you shouldn’t.</p>
<p>Ah, fuck it.</p>
<p>“So… since we’re staying one night,” you swallow, “do you want to, maybe, watch the suns rise?”</p>
<p>Mando looks at you. At least, you think he does. The hard lines of his helmet make you feel that his personality is the same way: sharp, cutting—he’s probably the type of guy who always looks people in the eye. You imagine he’s looking straight into yours. He stays like this, still as a statue, while you make it a point not to buckle from the attention. You wish you knew what he was thinking, <em>how </em>he was looking at you. Just to know if you’ve missed the mark and suggested something downright preposterous.</p>
<p>“Yeah.” His shoulders relax after an excruciating, lengthy moment. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”</p>
<p>You breathe out a soundless sigh of relief, wind you didn’t realize you were holding gushing out of your lungs, and you beam weakly at him. “Okay. Great.”</p>
<p>“Get in the ship. We can rest a bit, get up in time for the suns to rise over the horizon. Then I can take you home.”</p>
<p>Ah. Home. Something inside you sinks at the thought as you climb into the cockpit, pulling you back to the harsh reality that your life is. Surviving. Working. It’s not that you don’t love what you do, it’s just… this is such a welcome reprieve. You aren’t exactly ready for it to end, even though this trip wasn’t meant for you at all.</p>
<p>At least both of you are on the same page.</p>
<p>You and Mando make camp on a relatively open field on a ridge that overlooks Endor’s teeming lush vegetation. Not much is different here, it’s still trees and plants and earth, but with the baby’s giant bug eyes full of wonder and zeal, it’s as if you’ve landed somewhere else.</p>
<p>A small fire crackles to life, and Mando throws a branch into the flickering flames. He settles back on his haunches and you sit cross-legged next to him.</p>
<p>There’s really just. Something about him. Something that intrigues you, pulls you in just enough, not too close to the fortress he’s built for himself but still, close enough for you to want to know more. You have questions. Still, so many. You gaze at the chrome visor, the fire’s reflection dancing off it in steady flickers.</p>
<p>Steady. Controlled. The possibility of bursting into a large, engulfing wildfire ever-present. You wonder if that’s him—if the Mandalorian is like fire.</p>
<p>“You should get some sleep,” he says after a while, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the peace that blankets both of you. “You look tired.”</p>
<p>Right on cue, you stifle a yawn. You couldn’t exactly take a nap and watch over the baby, and it’s beginning to take its toll on you. “What about you? You gonna sleep?”</p>
<p>“Maybe.”</p>
<p>Silence. The embers glow within the logs, a pretty, warm orange that makes you vaguely remember the suns you’ve seen before on other star systems. It coaxes you into a state of relaxation, your heartbeat slowing and your eyelids growing heavy. The walls you put up for yourself crumble just the slightest as you let your guard down. Just a little. Perhaps the fire has the same effect on him. What are the odds of him humoring you with another answer?</p>
<p>“Do you… sleep with it on?”</p>
<p>One second drags into many more. The fire crackles. The crickets chirp. The baby gurgles.</p>
<p>“Mostly.”</p>
<p>You don’t pry further. There it is again, crawling up your gut, that mild feeling of secondhand guilt coupled with a little secondhand sadness. And just very steadily creeping in at the edges—the inexplicable need to give him a taste of something he’s probably haven’t had in a long time.</p>
<p>“I can sleep out here. With the baby. You can sleep in the ship, so you can…” The tail end of your statement goes unfinished, fading out into just another crackle of the fire.</p>
<p>But he understands. There’s a weight in this silence this time, pulled with gratitude and perhaps a little awe. You don’t consider yourself a believer in the Force, but. You can feel the wave of subtle relief that radiates from him. Like… like no one’s asked before, and he’s too honorable to ask for something like some time to himself.</p>
<p>“Thank you.”</p>
<p>Your chin dips forward, the same time you feel your cheeks warming—from the fire or something else entirely. You don’t exactly want to name it. “You’re welcome.”</p>
<p>A pause. “Will you… be okay?”</p>
<p>“Tough girl like me?” You give him a sleepy half-smile. “I’ll manage.”</p>
<p>You think you’ve just gotten used to him, acclimatized to the way he keeps you at arm’s length simultaneously trying to maintain a certain degree of chivalry—but what you think you know of him is tossed completely out the window when he stands and pats you on the shoulder.</p>
<p>It’s brief. Just a second, nothing more; casual in itself yet somehow it holds the weight of a star system. To you, at least. The Mandalorian are warriors. They should not know softness… but they do. <em>This one</em> does.</p>
<p>He retreats into the safety of the Razor Crest, his silhouette fading into nothing more than a shiny glint, but the mystery of him shines brighter in your mind’s eye than ever before.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mando. Hey, Mando. I can call you that, right?”</p>
<p>You bounce the baby on your hip, significantly more confident in your movements than you were yesterday. He’s taken a liking to you, you think. He lights up with giggles when you raise the pitch of your voice and scrunch up your nose to amuse him. You can see why the Mandalorian likes him.</p>
<p>You’re quickly growing fond of the little womp rat too.</p>
<p>The Mandalorian straightens. He looks at you in question. You don’t know how you can tell—you just do.</p>
<p>“Suns’re about to rise. Stop checking that thing and let’s sit down.”</p>
<p>He taps his vambrace a couple more times before his arm drops to his side. “Habit. Don’t come crying for help if there’s an ambush we don’t know about.”</p>
<p>You roll your eyes, scratching the baby’s whiskery forehead. “Sit. C’mon.”</p>
<p>You plop onto the ground for emphasis, and the Mandalorian follows in a far more bulky, yet somehow graceful, manner beside you. Endor is still colored a pale indigo, the first few rays of sunlight barely peeking out from the horizon.</p>
<p>You’ll be quiet this time, you promise yourself. No more prying questions, no more trying to wheedle information out of him. Just peace and quiet, a change of pace from the brutal noise of bounty hunting he’s used to.</p>
<p>“I actually… shouldn’t have done. What I did.”</p>
<p>You wait for him to continue; you get the feeling he’s talking more for his benefit than for yours. He’s not trying to fill the void with needless chatter. This is different.</p>
<p>“Picking you up and taking you away from your job. It was wrong of me. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>You shrug. Truthfully, you don’t mind as much as he thinks you do. “I needed a change of scenery. I’m guessing you did too.”</p>
<p>“I did.” He straightens. “But. Still.”</p>
<p>“Don’t worry about it.”</p>
<p>Now, you count the seconds until he starts speaking, just to keep your mind from initiating the conversation. You get the idea that if you start talking, asking more questions, saying random things you notice about the changing color of the sky, whatever spell he seems to be under—being freer in his words, the beskar fortress opening just a <em>tiny crack </em>for you—will be broken.</p>
<p><em>One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight</em>—</p>
<p>Eight whole seconds.</p>
<p>“I’m not even supposed to be doing this. Staying in one place for too long is… dangerous.”</p>
<p>“For you, or the kid?”</p>
<p>“Both of us.”</p>
<p>“Just a few more minutes,” you encourage lightly. “Until we see the suns completely.”</p>
<p>And there it is, that tip of the strong lines of his helmet dipping low, a finality in the gesture that renders you mute. An acknowledgment. Silence.</p>
<p>Golden beams of light begin to bleed over the tops of the terrain, the trees turning from a shadowed teal to a full forest green. But… slowly. You don’t realize how slow sunrises are until you’re actually watching one. The giant star inches its way up over the sleepy Forest Moon, its second half just barely noticeable and following suit. It’s kind of fun to try and figure out where one sun stops and the other begins.</p>
<p>“It’s been a while,” Mando starts, voice pleasantly low and modulated and throwing you for a loop completely, “since I… last watched a sunrise.”</p>
<p>You pick at the wool covering the baby. “Really? When was the last time?” You bounce the kid to keep him from fidgeting in your lap, a constant rhythm to lull him into a tranquil disposition.</p>
<p>Mando leans back against both his arms, head going to one side in thought. “I was a foundling. I can’t remember much of it—just the feeling. How warm the sun was. Everywhere. It was… it was blinding. I think.”</p>
<p>You gaze at him. The threat of heaviness hangs between you, and you attempt to keep an air of lighthearted conversation before it can drag you down into a pit you’re not quite ready to jump into. “And now? Too many bounties to hunt?”</p>
<p>He turns his gaze to the horizon. “Something like that.”</p>
<p>The morning breeze caresses the tendrils of your hair, fanning out behind you while the baby reaches in vain to capture a tiny insect that flies past.</p>
<p>Stars. Something in his answer shakes you. Not an earth-splitting, roaring kind of shake—it’s a quiet rumble, enough to rouse one who was sleeping. Enough for one to go, “What was that?” and wonder if what they felt was real.</p>
<p>He’s a bounty hunter. He shouldn’t be sitting here, with you—with a <em>kid,</em> for Maker’s sake—watching a sunrise on Endor. All beskar, all tough, he probably fought tooth and nail to survive. He’s probably killed more people than you’ve seen at the shop. His silence is probably calculating after years of hunting. Distrustful of strangers, always strategically two steps ahead. For him, it’s probably killed or be killed. That’s probably second nature, hell, first instinct maybe, for him. Probable. Not fact. Still—you get the feeling you’re not quite off the mark.</p>
<p>But for him to mention the last time he saw a <em>sunrise.</em></p>
<p>He’s scary. Stoic, emotionless, intimidating…</p>
<p>But he was someone before he put his armor on.</p>
<p>Metal maketh a Mandalorian. But also, not really. Of course there’s more to it. But it’s all you and most see him as: just some metal bounty hunter chasing coin. It’s easy to forget there’s a man underneath, warm and alive and likely just as <em>human</em>. Does he allow a smile underneath his helmet? Does he hold his laugh back, does he let his tears fall freely?</p>
<p>And then somehow, gazing absently at the lazily rising suns, its warmth spilling over the horizon, something guts you. A realization. One not so outrightly jarring, but it hits you with surprising force nonetheless. It wriggles its way to the tip of your tongue, somewhere between a question and a statement that you fight to withhold.</p>
<p>You don’t doubt that he’s seen the sun rise. Has he taken the time out to sit here, like this, and <em>watch?</em> Probably not. But you don’t doubt he’s seen it.</p>
<p>You doubt that he’s <em>seen </em>it since he swore the oath.</p>
<p>The baby brings you back to the present, his gentle grip on your forearm rousing you from your deep thought. You glance at him, and then to the Mandalorian beside you. He’s absolutely set in his seat, still and silent like he always is. You wonder if he’s always been like that. Or if without the helmet, it’s a different story.</p>
<p>You have too much respect for him—fear, yes, but mostly respect—to ask him to take it off with you next to him. So instead, you scoot gingerly, careful not to jostle the baby too much, until you’re sitting with your backs pressed together.</p>
<p>You feel the slightest shift of metal against your hair as the Mandalorian turns his head partially to the side. A silent question.</p>
<p>You’re nervous. You don’t know <em>why</em> the tiny action has your heart thumping. Your fingers pick at the wool once more. When you speak, your voice is small. “I… you can—um, you can. Take off your helmet. I won’t look. Promise.”</p>
<p>The wind whistles in your ears, and you wonder if it carried your voice away. Or if you’ve just insulted him. Oh, Maker, why do you have to be so fucking <em>impulsive</em>—</p>
<p>“The suns are rising here. On this side.”</p>
<p>“I-I know,” you trip, “but you know. Endor. Binary star system, all that. But we’re on the Forest Moon, right? So—so I’ve heard stories that—”</p>
<p>“You want to watch the suns rise.”</p>
<p>You huff, a little exasperated. What exactly are you frustrated about? That he’s deflecting so much? That you’re stammering every two seconds? That you’re trying to do something <em>nice</em> but you feel it’s going completely over his stupid metal head?</p>
<p>You exhale and try again. Sure enough, climbing inch by inch, another celestial body begins to rise up into your eyeline. “They say Endor—the planet, I mean—sometimes acts like a second sun.”</p>
<p>“Endor has two suns.”</p>
<p>Maybe you’re crazy, but you <em>swear </em>you hear a smile somewhere through that warped voice filter.</p>
<p>“I <em>mean</em>—” your cheeks are heating up now, “they say you can watch the suns rise on both sides if you’re on its moons. But one of them’s not really the sun. Duh. Endor just. Reflects the light, so it looks like the sun. Or-or something like that.”</p>
<p>“And you see it?”</p>
<p>“Right now? I do.” You bite your bottom lip, briefly debating if you should vocalize what you’ve been thinking just now. “I just… have you ever seen a sunrise? Without that thing on?”</p>
<p>Oh, you’ve done it now. If you were toeing the line before, now you just straight up cross it, ignoring any and all boundaries. Maker, you’ve literally <em>just met him</em>. But here you are, running your mouth and doing uncharacteristic things.</p>
<p>But he’s surprised you multiple times too. His kid. His awkward softness. Or at least, his willingness to try for it.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I-I wasn’t thinking, and—”</p>
<p>Something thunks against the hard earth. A fraction of a tilt of your head to the side, and a brief glint of metal twinkles out of the corner of your eye.</p>
<p>You’ve never straightened so fast.</p>
<p>Your heart continues to thump, a staccato that has your nerves skyrocketing. <em>Don’t look. He’s trusting you. Don’t look.</em></p>
<p>You never expected the steel fortress to crack even just a little. But here, right now, he’s opened a fucking gate with you.</p>
<p>You’re too afraid to even speak right now, afraid that it will burst whatever precious moment you two are both sharing and experiencing separately. You feel the Mandalorian inhale and then exhale, equally long and deep, as he sags against you.</p>
<p>Tired. Relieved. Heavy. Eased.</p>
<p>Unmodulated.</p>
<p>Vulnerable.</p>
<p>After a few moments your taut muscles begin to loosen and you nestle as much as you can into the armor on his back. His head gently bumps against yours, and you stiffen.</p>
<p>The baby coos in your arms. You relax minutely.</p>
<p>You spend seconds, minutes, possibly even <em>hours</em> sitting back-to-back with the Mandalorian in companionable silence. Endor isn’t as blinding as its suns are, but it’s still incredibly pretty to watch its reflected light crawl over the horizon. You sit and watch until the light spreads over the entirety of the Forest Moon, until your shadows slowly disappear, in awe of the absolute tranquility of it all. It just feels <em>right</em>, even with his beskar pressed against your back and the baby babbling from time to time. It shouldn’t, but it does, and your heart fills with warmth that spreads through your veins, like the sun’s a beacon of warm feelings and you’ve just absorbed it all. You close your eyes. And you commit this moment—this singular, uninterrupted moment that’s forever yours—to memory.</p>
<p>“This is nice,” you whisper.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he quietly agrees, “it is.”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>It kind of really fucking breaks your heart when you exit the Razor Crest and enter the shop with a bag full of credits.</p>
<p>Of course it had to end. What were you thinking? That somehow, the Mandalorian was going to offer you to stay? What would you even do?</p>
<p>After you and Mando shared such an intimate (at the same time, not) moment together, it’s kind of… strange to be back where you started. In the shop. A good distance apart.</p>
<p>About to say goodbye.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” he says, his modulated voice ringing familiar and foreign at the same time.</p>
<p>“My pleasure.”</p>
<p>Awkward. It’s not strained, but… it’s off, considering this morning. The intimacy of such an innocent moment. Do you… hug? Do Mandalorians hug?</p>
<p>He glances at the ship. “I should get going.”</p>
<p>“Your ship’s all good. I, uh, checked once we landed.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.”</p>
<p>Gratitude. Always, with him. Your cheeks burn.</p>
<p>He turns to walk up the ramp, and before you can stop yourself your mouth opens before your mind can protest.</p>
<p>“Hey Mando—”</p>
<p>He stops, turns to face you. That piercing gaze. You just know it. You smile, hoping he smiles under his helmet. You really, really hope he’s smiling under there.</p>
<p>“Be safe.”</p>
<p>He waits a beat. Then another. And then—</p>
<p>“You too.”</p>
<p>Your heart drops, just a little, but you keep your smile on your face and your eyes trained on the Crest as the engines power up. And then he’s off, taking his kid with him along with the memory of his brief period of respite with you.</p>
<p>Maybe another day, when the last thing you’d think you’d be doing is holding a little baby ball of green wrapped in scratchy brown wool, will be the day he comes back.</p>
<p>The chances of that are slim. But still, you’ll take your chances.</p>
<p>You like those odds.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Comments and kudos are always appreciated &lt;3<br/>Connect with me on tumblr: www.bellesque.tumblr.com</p></blockquote></div></div>
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